say this, but you’re living, despite everything.”
She begins pointing as we enter campus, and soon, I’m in a parking lot, near her dorm. Exiting the car, I walk around to open the door then turn to escort her to the building. “It’s fine, Wells. I got it from here.”
“Yeah, sweetheart, you better believe that when I drop you off at your dorm, I’ll be walking you from point A”—I point at the car—“to point B.” I extend my fingers toward the long walkway that is at least a half of a mile to the front of her dorm. “And you might as well not argue with me, or I’ll pop you up over my shoulder and carry you for the whole world to see,” I warn.
She hitches her right eyebrow higher than the other. “I never took you as the Neanderthal type of alpha male?”
I move my hand to the small of her back, staking a protective claim on her. “Well, then, sweetheart, you’ll have a blast getting to know the real and transparent Wells Shanahan.”
Chapter 6
Malia
The key turns, but something is blocking the door. “Greenlyn,” I call out. “Greenlyn, are you in there?”
Laughter floats out of the small crack I’ve been able to wedge open. It’s not just female; a male tone mixes with it, too. “See, I told you my roommate would be back soon.”
“She has shitty timing,” the male voice begins, but he’s laughing just as hard.
“Give me a second, M, I’ll be right there.” How fucking hard is the name Malia? I’ll put a stop to this, right now.
The chair is moved from behind the door, and the shirtless male squeezes past me as he bids his farewell to my roommate. “Catch you later, Greenlyn, the tantalizing witch.”
Well, that’s original, I internally criticize in my head, but this winner of a man isn’t done. “Hey, I’m Victor. Next time, maybe you can join us, roomie.” His laughter continues down the hall. I pull my chair she used to block the entrance and move it back to my desk.
“Sorry, M. I just broke up with my boyfriend from high school, so I was blowing off some steam.” She’s casual about it as if this punk hadn’t suggested a threesome plus she still has not called me by my God-given name.
“This will never happen again. Understand me? I’m very funny about people in my space. I put it on my request for a roommate.” I don’t stand. I sit as her hands find passage on her hips.
“You’re not for real, are you?”
“As real as Green Day and Pearl Jam.” I have no idea what I’m saying, but they’re my favorite bands, and I own it, and because I’m on a roll, I finish my list of hard lines. “And my name isn’t M; it’s Malia.” I fall back on my bed, my AirPods in my ears, turning on my playlist when I hear just a little bit from Greenlyn.
“Great, I’ve gotten stuck with the most unreasonable grandma like person.” This makes me laugh. Have circumstances turned me into this? Fucking yeah, it has.
“Alive” blares in my AirPods, and my eyes adjust to the sun streaming into the room. Greenlyn’s side is still intact, where I had assumed she packed up, leaving me alone—to get as far away from me as she can. However, maybe she’s stuck like I am.
Mom and Dad didn’t have much, so when they died with the little bit left over, after Mally paid for the countless doctors and therapists, the leftovers went to her hospital bills in the end. If there had been any way to reverse the cancer or prolong her life, I would have done anything to stop it. Mally had been my legal guardian, but for financial reasons, I’ve technically stayed a foster kid, in order to have my college paid for. I had to jump through hoops for Oregon to pay for a non-state school. In the end, I won due to Seattle being my home. It’s my long way of explaining why I didn’t have enough money to have a private room.
I push back in my bed against the brick wall, taking inventory of our room. Greenlyn’s side is purple and pink from the paisley bedspread to the curtains, and all her wall art matches aesthetically. My wall is bare, minus the art piece over my headboard, a picture of Aunt Mally’s farmhouse that I painted years ago. It wasn’t a working farm, hadn’t been since my mom and